


The Party's Crashing Us

by Sunshinecackle



Series: Head Over Heels [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU - Canon Divergent, Acrophobia, Angst, Canon Deaf Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Events Discussed, Clint’s a little drunk, Emotions, Fear of Heights, Fix-it fic, Fluff, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, Past Abuse, Pietro’s Alive, Pietro’s Not Dead, Pietro’s a flight risk always, Slash, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Yaoi, past trauma, post-age of ultron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshinecackle/pseuds/Sunshinecackle
Summary: Clint had been living in a fog since that day in Sokovia. Natasha (and Tony) had just what he needed to clear up his mind.





	1. Pleasant Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> So… I keep writing these two. Between angst and smut I just really need both, evidently, because it’s going to be sad, and then happy, and then maybe sad again. Who knows. xD At any rate, I’ll be working on this between chapters of Predating Predators, which is sort of how it started. I was going to focus on this fic, and then the idea kind of hit for the other fic and it ended up happening before this one was even finished. So, evidently, I just need to keep working on both of them. I'm going to get onto Predating Predators part two next, so don't worry. I hope you guys are as excited for these as I am! Chapter two will be purely NSFW, but this one is fine. Angsty, mostly, but not NSFW. Here we go!

Clint Barton had always been a fan of Tony Stark. 

Sure, they argued fairly often, and they really didn’t get along unless everyone else was present and there were booze and food and music playing quietly in the background…

Okay, so Clint Barton had always been a fan of Tony Stark’s _parties_ , and that couldn’t have been closer to the truth when Natasha strong-armed him out of bed for that evening’s celebrating. Whatever Tony was reveling, Clint had had no desire to have a part in it, but his old friend knew him well enough. She knew what he needed and assured him that this would be better than moping in his room sober before going home to Laura.

He hadn’t been the same, not since they returned from Sokovia, and she seemed to be the only one with a full grasp of why. Steve chalked it up to losing someone he wanted to mentor, someone he had only just started to see as a friend. Tony stated that Clint had _always_ been quiet unless he was getting drunk, so it was obvious that he just needed some booze in him. Thor and Wanda had kept their ideas mostly quiet, even if it seemed Thor could still chat off someone’s ear about it. His biggest priority was that neither Clint nor Wanda heard it. 

Speaking of, he hadn’t heard much about Wanda, not in a week or so. He figured he was the last person she wanted to see; hell, he was the last person _he_ wanted to see, which was why he’d gotten awfully scruffy since their return. 

The party warranted a shave, apparently, if Natasha’s cherry lips curved in a smirk around the words, ‘I think you’ll want to look your best tonight.’ told him anything. At least he was present enough in some part of his mind that he didn’t have to walk out with bath tissue stuck to his face to cover anywhere that he’d messed up. A simple, black V-neck t-shirt clung to his torso, something Nat had left out for him on his bed, and a pair of jeans that were baggy in the places that mattered and tight in the ones that mattered _more_ polished off his look. 

Silent as ever, he entered the party not long after Natasha graced everyone with her presence. She kissed cheeks and hands alike, and Clint took a vague note that it seemed she was awfully close to Wanda. It seemed only natural; birds of a feather flocked together, after all. Of course, Natasha and Wanda would be friends. Before he found himself questioning anything further, he turned his entire body away and headed for the bar. Tonight was already going to push him into a bottle, apparently, because the second he got his hands on a beer, he was whisked away by Thor.

“--I said ‘No, I don’t. I think--”

“Thor--” Clint couldn’t have gotten his attention if he wanted to, not at this rate. He was going on and on so fast that he hardly wanted to pay attention. Fast wasn’t what he needed right now. When the barrage of words didn’t seem to stop, he simply plucked his hearing aids from his ears. The action went unnoticed, and he was thankful for that, simply nodding along whenever Thor looked to him. He offered a soft snort of a laugh every so often when it looked like the blond was incredibly excited, hoping that it was right but not exactly caring. Thor was good-natured enough, he wouldn’t be too hurt if he knew why Clint had wanted to spend his night alone.

Footsteps vibrated behind him and he felt a familiar, delicate hand on his shoulder. It took just a second before she slid in front of him, tapping her ear for a second. Turning slightly away from Thor, who had already found someone else to jabber at, he pushed the aids back in and closed his eyes, mouth turning up at one corner and then the other as he readjusted to the sounds around him. Waiting patiently, Nat watched the grumpy look return to his face before he swallowed down the rest of the beer he’d apparently been chugging. 

“Yeah?” He finally asked, when her waiting was starting to toy with his buzz. Usually, if she had something to say, she’d say it. Tonight, apparently, he was going to have to guess.

“Got a surprise for you, Barton.” She teasingly punched his shoulder and he rose a brow at her instead. “You need to come see, though. I know Steve’s going to want to see you, uh… With your gift.”

Confusion was written in the draw of his brow as he stepped forward, following her along like a mindless man with nothing better to do. Maybe that’s what he'd been for the last two weeks. 

“You haven’t been yourself for over a month.” She informed, turning to look at him over her shoulder while they walked. Shock fluttered his eyelids and he glanced around to attempt to find the date. It didn’t quite work, but he didn’t exactly have it in him to ask JARVIS right now. In fact, he kind of wished he had another beer. 

They rounded a corner and Wanda passed them, holding out a spare beer, the kind Clint liked. He took it with another crease in his brow and a soft grunt of acknowledgment, and she gave him a private, knowing smile. Coming from someone who had once been intent on getting in his head, he had to wonder just what she knew. If she knew anything at all. And if she did… Why was she smiling? Was it some sick enjoyment out of watching his own misery at the same loss she suffered?

“Clint.” Natasha whistled and his head jerked to her, a soft, almost apologetic smile on her face, “Almost. Come on. I’m sure you aren’t the only one confused.” 

This was a setup. He’d been the reason another teammate died and Nick Fury was trying to punish him if the Widow was giving him that look. Another corner, a set of stairs up to the terrace, and Clint was positive he was going to die. It only perpetuated the thought when the reason he’d climbed the stairs turned to look at him and it felt like a physical blow to the chest. In that same accent, maybe more tired than cocky, Pietro let a lazy smile work over his lips as he spoke.

“What? Didn’t see this coming?” 

As it turned out, it was Pietro who didn’t see something coming. And, maybe, everyone else in the room. Clint stalked across the floor and lifted the white-haired male from the couch. For a second, Wanda’s hands shimmered red but Natasha held up a hand to get her to wait. Wanda didn’t dare touch his mind, but Pietro’s faltering smile had her ready to chance it. When Clint all but yanked him into a tight embrace and made a choked sound, she lost her breath almost the same time that her brother did. 

Pietro let out a shaky breath when he realized that, while he wasn’t entirely immobile, he was being clutched in a good way, and wrapped his arms around the other’s back, just under his armpits. With flat palms pressed to Clint’s shoulder blades, he gasped a little as the elder pressed his nose to his neck and inhaled deeply. All that it took was two words to topple Clint into a shaking, sobbing mess. 

“You’re alive.” 

At least his dear friend had the foresight to shoo everyone from the room and keep an eye on Tony in order to give them some semblance of privacy. 

“I… I am.” When was the last time someone other than his sister had hugged him? He couldn’t remember a touch that didn’t leave him aching that was from someone else. Clint certainly had him reeling as he staggered a little closer to finish squeezing all the air out from between them. 

“ _You’re alive._ ” Clint repeated, unashamed of the level of brokenness in his voice. His lips grazed the younger male’s forehead and the crown of his hair, and Pietro stilled entirely for a moment, holding his breath. He waited for a hundred things to happen and nothing really did, instead, he was oddly safe, oddly warm and his cheeks burned something awful. Above him, muttered words sounded almost like a prayer, and he didn’t bother asking what they meant. For the first time in a long time, someone other than Wanda was touching him, holding him, and he felt exhilarated. 

Pietro Maximoff had never believed in soul mates, never once thought he would find anything that made him feel like he was the only person in the world for someone, but here he was, resting his head against Clint’s shoulder. He hummed absently to the beat of the song playing softly downstairs, and neither of them really knew who began it, but they began to rock together, slowly.

It didn’t take long at all before Pietro’s eyes had drooped so low he figured it was better just to close them. Another beat passed and Clint’s lips parted, words dancing from his lips that made the speedster’s pulse jump in his chest.

_You keep your distance with a system of touch_  
And gentle persuasion  
I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much? 

Pietro could tell his cheeks were warm, and he nestled his face into the joint of Clint’s neck and shoulder. It felt too good to be held, to have those soft words sang so gently into his hair, and it was drawing him into a safe headspace. Without thinking, he leaned up suddenly and took in the other’s steely eyes with those shockingly blue ones. Smiling sweetly, disarmingly, he leaned in to press his lips to the elder’s, working the softest, glossiest mouth against Clint’s rough lips. 

At first, the elder man was still and stiff, staring down at the other before finally letting his eyes slide closed. Hands slipping down to Pietro’s hips, following an unconscious suggestion from those too-quick hands, he leaned into him, bringing the other in close.

Breath mingling as their foreheads pressed together, Pietro’s eyelids fluttered as he looked into Clint’s eyes. For a moment he held his breath, as if afraid that this would disappear if he let loose a harsh breath. It didn’t stop Clint from the ragged panting, his dark eyes searching the other’s emotionless face. Pietro was good at hiding himself if he truly needed to, and he must have felt an odd need. Biting his lip, Clint opened his mouth a second later to try and apologize, but he was silenced by another kiss.

“Do not speak.” Pietro whispered into his mouth, letting his words be swallowed down, “We may not be permitted, but just for tonight.” 

As much as he wanted to agree that it would be a one-time thing, Clint knew he wouldn’t be able to get the silver-haired speed demon out of his head. The almost crushing grip he had on the other’s thin hips was enough to tell him that.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t--” But he had to stop that thought before it ran away from him, “Should we find a spare room?”

Even if Pietro ended up backing out, at the very least he could hold him and remind himself that the kid wasn’t dead.

“ _Da_.” Pietro informed softly, his mind focused a little more on preparing for what was inevitable. The best he’d done in the past probably would remain in the top spot, as he’d found most men couldn’t exactly bring themselves to make it good for the pair of them. The tenseness in his back only had Clint’s hands smoothing down his back until he relaxed. Without warning, he lifted the speedster and held him like a princess against his chest, starting them for the highest point the Tower offered.


	2. This Is For Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro was flighty and nervous, but Clint was nothing if not patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so, I know this one hasn’t been waiting SUPER long, but it’s still a little longer than I’d like. I finally feel like I can write again, so I want to take advantage of that while I can. I’m going to try and edit/post things as much as possible today, as well. 
> 
> Translations can be found at the end of the chapter. For the record, I’m using Google Translate for some of Pietro’s lines. I do not speak Romanian at all, though the language is beautiful to me, and if you would like to correct any mistakes, please let me know! 
> 
> Another note, I know I write Pietro’s broken English as worse than in the movie, but I happen to like the idea of him having a harder time with English than Wanda, who can glean things from people’s minds. It’s a personal headcanon of mine. 
> 
> On to the story!

Whatever sound he'd made was forgotten as the pair rounded out onto the rooftop. A narrow spiral swirled up what looked to be a steep incline with just enough space for the two of them on the partially tilted platform, and Pietro was slack-jawed, speechless. Naturally, a human bird would want to be up as high as possible with his fallen new beginning, but the quick little rabbit in his talons was honestly ready to scream. The biggest trouble with that seemed to be the sudden lack of air in his lungs, fear paralyzing him mid-gasp.

Quivering in the elder's arms, he buried his nose in the crook of Clint's neck, eyes screwed shut until his head throbbed. A tiny, cracked word in Sokovian left him before he was able to correct himself. Clint didn't understand a lick of Sokovian, according to Natasha. Romanian and Russian were easier for him. He didn't quite manage English even if he wanted to, but that wasn't the biggest concern.

“ _Nu aici._ ”

There was a whimper entangled in those words that stopped Clint in his tracks. Breath punched from his gut, he glanced down at the precious seventeen-year-old in his arms, clinging to him like it would make a difference in his status as alive or deceased. Had he already messed up? Even _he_ wasn't so socially awkward as to think he'd done everything right. If the kid was shaking like that, it meant he had mere seconds to rectify whatever slight he'd managed in a few minutes’ time. A comfortable silence had fallen over them while he carried the other off like a prize, a stingy bird wanting this shiny treat all to himself on the highest peak--

 _Oh_. He could have kicked himself. It was the damn _heights_! It was only natural for heights to worry the Sokovian. He'd practically died some hundreds of feet up in the air on a tiny spit of land barely held together by spite and malice. Had Pietro not shoved that car in the way of Clint and that small boy-- he'd learned his name had been Radek --he probably would have feared heights just the same. Well, maybe not to such an extent, but he wasn't about to give Pietro any more reasons to leave so soon. The Sokovian in his arms was flighty at best, and he wasn't ready to return to cradling a ghost to his chest.

Backpedaling for the door he'd all but left without a second thought, they climbed back down the spiral staircase until they reached something a little more neutral; a spare room, sparsely decorated and evidently meant for occupants that didn’t mind entertaining each other. Maybe that was a little more to ask for than was polite after just finding out that Pietro was _alive_ (He was breathing and shaking and his smile was fire in Clint’s veins), but Clint knew that, at the very least, there was going to be no space between them for the next six eternities if he could help it.

Already, Pietro was capable of sliding his nose against Clint’s collarbone and neck, peeking one impossibly blue eye over the rise of his shoulder to survey their surroundings. The quiet thrum of the bass in whatever song was playing some ten floors down barely reached them, but it was as loud as any other feeling throbbing through Clint’s feet. Rubbing out the rhythm in the small of the other’s back, he drug his feet as each weary step brought them that much closer to the crisp, modern white couch. 

In what felt like an eternity and a blink, Pietro was on his back with the full weight of Clint’s body held just above his heaving chest. The seventeen-year-old stared up at him, lips parted and eyes wide, as the elder male offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. If the way he felt his face moving (and the uncertain glimmer in Pietro’s eyes) said anything, it was that he’d missed his mark entirely, for once.

“You look like a cornered rabbit.” The look on his face told Pietro that Clint hadn’t intended on saying such a thing out loud, and as he gazed up at the elder man, hands by his head and fingers slightly curled inward, his whole body gave a minute twitch. A cornered rabbit? He supposed he was fast and jumpy, even on the best of days. Quick to anger, quick to fear, quick to _run_ with his tail tucked and teeth bared like he might do something about what had bothered him. 

It was no surprise to him that he wasn’t really much of a fighter. He could do whatever he could to help in a battle, as his wits were as nimble as his feet, but just because he was a champion improviser didn’t mean he was always invaluable. Wanda was the one with talent, and he was _always_ dispensable. Except that he wasn’t. Wanda, and now Clint, had proven to him that he had a purpose, and his life wasn’t just a speck of dust, or barely a blip on the map. Not anymore; He had a reason to hold on and keep trying. That wasn’t to say he’d ever been _suicidal_ per se, but he had certainly thought himself to be lesser than his sister on multiple occasions.

While it was true that he would defend his sister and himself until he was blue in the face, the thought dwelled in the shadows of his mind that he wasn’t as important as Wanda. Or, rather, he was important _because_ of Wanda. It had always felt like that, though, even before they had become lab rats for Strucker. It was always his number one priority to make sure Wanda was always okay. 

And, now, she was. 

But was _he_? Without worrying about Wanda, there was a new, open-ended wound in his chest that nobody saw. He’d spent so long making sure she was safe, she was taken care of, she was fed and had what she really needed, that he wasn’t sure he could offer himself the same kindness.

It must have been taking him too long to respond, which he could have given a breathless chuckle about had Clint not shifted above him awkwardly. Eyes drawing back up to him, he had to fight not to scowl. He hated the uncertain look on the elder man’s face, the equal balance of his swaying body, all asking the same question: _Should I stay, or should I go?_

“A rabbit?” He tried on that cocky smirk, the usual mask he put on when he was feeling anything but self-assured. “You think I am _rabbit_ , now?” 

“And why not? You’d be cute with big floppy ears.” Clint muttered, having already dug his hole and decided he’d lie in it. Whether it be a makeshift bed or a shallow grave, had yet to be seen.

“ _Ești bătrân sentimental, credeam că vrei să mă dai, să nu te ții și să mă petreci._ ” The snort that left Pietro almost made Clint smile of his own volition, but it fell when that distant look returned to his hopeful partner’s eyes. 

“We don’t have to do anything--” Before that whole train could start, Pietro derailed it by snatching both of Clint’s cheeks in his hands hard enough to force a hollow sound from his opened lips, kissing him suddenly.

“I need it, as do you.” Pietro began, softly, when he finally pulled away, the tingling in his lips making him take pause to try and just relish in the feeling. “But maybe embers are better than roaring fire, _da_?” For now, at least. 

After a moment’s thought, Clint dropped down to line their bodies up perfectly, holding himself against the other with just enough pressure to be reassuring. Well, he hoped it didn’t feel stifling, but he had to admit that it honestly was the most relaxed he’d felt in over a month, despite the tense line of his shoulders. Lips together, he pressed each word into the younger’s mouth like a promise, sealed with a kiss at the apex of every one.

“I think I’ll be burning for you for a long time.” He informed, voice quiet yet impactful in the silence around them, “You lit a fire in me I didn’t think could be rekindled.” 

The thought only made the younger man blush, looking away shyly as the elder man shifted to the side, closer to the back of the couch. Pietro shook his head.

“No, no, you. I want the inside.” A barely concealed peal of laughter belied the scolding tone to the other’s voice and he winked, “I will feel safe walled in by soft and hard.” His hand passed over the couch as he said ‘soft’, and the stiff muscles of Clint’s back as ‘hard’ rolled off of his tongue. It was Clint’s turn to grow hot in the face, and he chuckled a little, letting the booze in his system guide him instead of his asocial behavior.

“Very well, princess. Whatever you want.” He muttered, rolling to put his body between Pietro and the outside world. In a strange twist of fate, he found himself enjoying the feeling of caging him in, keeping him safe and free of the world’s cold, grimy hands. If he had anything to say about it, what had happened in Sokovia would _never_ happen again.

"Princess?" Scoffing, Pietro settled in with his nose tucked against Clint's collarbone, uncaring that he looked so small and frail in the other's strong arms. Maybe he'd been flagging on his health when he had been trying not to be dead, but he didn't seem truly bothered by the whole ordeal. Still, feeling like he was constantly starved was probably a small warning sign. That, and the addition that Clint apparently saw him as small, frail and fluffy, well, it all made him wonder just what he was doing here. The resounding, unanimous answer from every fiber of his being was that he didn’t want to leave. "I am no princess."

"You're beautiful and fair-skinned, you do what you can for your people, and you would do better than most people would in that role, I think," Clint muttered into the crown of his head, and the younger man felt his cheeks warming again. Hiding his face in the elder Avenger's chest, he huffed a little. “Even better than your sister.”

"You make me sound so... Fancy." And it made his chest hurt with how quickly his heart was beating.

"Maybe you are." The look of adoration in Clint’s eyes could have burned him, and he half wanted to reach out and extinguish the flames trying to choke him out. Instead, the lazy, drunken, _genuine_ smile on the elder’s face just made him laugh gently, shaking his head.

"You must think I am fragile, like doll."

"I think you're mine… If you want to be, and everything that is mine could be snatched away without a second's notice." Clint tried calmly, his smile curling up just a bit more to add sincerity. While there was an underlying anxiety to his words, it came off more silly to him than anything. Pietro was thankful for it despite placing his hand over the other's face, trying to hide his own embarrassment.

"Old man, you are too... Ah, what is word..." His brows knit together and Clint pressed a kiss to his palm, which only made him frown more, concentration waning, "You are like moon. Made entirely of cheese." At the very least, Clint let out a rumble of a laugh that only sunk Pietro's feelings of independence further. 

"That isn't exactly an answer." He informed dryly, grinning from ear to ear as he kissed his way from one ear to the other. They could discuss what the mood was made with the other another time. As much as a silly reprieve would have been nice, his feelings were out there, on the line, and he couldn’t deny his curiosity to have his question sated.

"You did not ask question." _Smart ass._ Clint gently knocked his chin into the younger's forehead before shaking his head and clucking his tongue.

"Do you want to be mine?" He breathed, bringing their mouths back together again, just enough pressure behind the movement to _never_ be enough. "You said you thought it would be just tonight... And if that's what you want, then I will keep it to just this one time." He _couldn't_ keep it to just this one time. All of this contact, the jokes and teasing, it would live on in his mind in perfect harmony for the rest of his life, playing back to him when he needed comfort and warmth. But, for Pietro, he would do anything, even if he didn't understand the sudden intensity of the desire for the teen he hadn't noticed before. The lyrics from earlier popped back into his head.

 _I’m lost in admiration  
Could I **need** you this much_?

"I will... Think about it." Pietro replied, that flighty, queasy smile finding his lips that made Clint wonder just what was going on behind those stormy eyes. "But for tonight, I am your princess. Your princess... Rabbit?" He tipped his head cutely and Clint's lips found his again like heat-seeking missiles. 

"The most beautiful of rabbits... Half a winter coat and a smile that could melt the polar ice caps." Usually, Clint wasn't this smooth. Some part of him figured it was because Pietro needed reassurance just as much as he did. It helped that neither of them were well-versed in a lot of social aspects and situations. Their upbringings had been good to them in that regard, for each other’s purposes. One hand skated through Pietro’s hair, and while the younger flinched at first, he seemed appreciative after a second, melting into it like he had an eternity for it.

“And what does that make you?” He questioned softly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he smoothed Clint's shirt over his chest in a few places. Mostly, it was an excuse to get away with touching him some more, but neither of them was willing to say anything.

"Whatever you want me to be." Came the easy response. "If I must be your bed, your protector, your _old man_ ,” He shot the other a teasing smirk, “Whatever you need... I'll be it." 

The genuine tone and oddly sentimental words struck Pietro like a blow to the chest, and he went stock still for a moment before relaxing once more. Love had been something he didn't have a lot of growing up, and for people to truly _care_ about him still perplexed him. Wanda didn't count, because she was all he had. She had always been the only one to care for him, because even he didn’t know how to handle himself. Or, at least, that was how it had been, once. Now, everything seemed so… Up in the air. But that was not a thought for such intimate moments. No, he didn’t need to be thinking about Sokovia, and how his life had felt like a coin tossed into a tornado’s vortex.

"Then be my blanket. It is... Cold." Pietro wasn't cold. More often than not, the chill of the world didn't get through to him, but the excuse was one he couldn't pass up. He was enjoying cuddling with Clint, holding onto him and staying as close as possible. Maybe he would never admit to it, but this was the best he’d ever felt, being touched by another man. For the first time, he didn’t feel an underlying fear of what pain would befall him. It felt a little more like he was scared to lose this incredible heat in his chest.

"A blanket it is," Clint replied, curling up around the speedster, tangling their legs and making sure they were both comfortable as he could manage. A long, comfortable silence stretched out between them, the loudest thing in the room being Clint's thumb slowly working a gentle back and forth motion into the younger's hip. The fabric of his shirt was soft, breathable and probably aerodynamic, for all he knew, but those things didn't matter right now. What mattered was that he had the other in his arms, and they were safe. They were _comfortable_. He kept reminding himself that Pietro was still _alive_.

Neither man knew exactly when they had fallen asleep, their bodies ready to bond in ways that even sex couldn't accomplish. A dreamless, pleasant sleep washed over both of them like a summer shower over a drought-stricken land, and Clint felt the restlessness leech from his bones for the first time since the last time he’d held Pietro in his arms.

However, when Clint woke up, he was alone. 

Jerking from his dreamlessness with a silent, choked cry, his eyes were wide and wild when he realized his arms were empty. Was last night some alcohol-induced fever dream? God above, he hoped not. There was a soft, lingering scent of sea salt and spice that had him relaxing back into the couch, burying his nose in the cushions. Chasing it until he pressed his face into the crease of the cushions at the back corner of the couch, he sighed softly through his nose, a smile quirking his lips up just slightly. He wouldn't forget that smell, even if the strongest memory of it was also the harshest to remember. The kid was alive and well, if not as much of, or even more of, a flight risk as he'd ever been.

But Clint was patient. One could only sit back and watch so many times without acting if they had the patience of a man that knew he had more stamina than his prey. Eventually, the rabbit would slow, and the hawk would make his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, man. I didn’t realize just how much I wanted to do for this, I guess. I decided the plain smut chapter will be a little longer, from here. But it will be worth it, so no worries! This fic is actually going to end up longer than it was originally intended to be, so I hope you guys are ready for some vague slow-burn. Hope to see you in the next chapter!
> 
> For the record, I have writing commissions open! Prices are below the translation, and anyone that wants one may DM me on Twitter ( @sunshinecackle )!
> 
> **Translations:**
> 
> _Nu aici._ \- Romanian - Not here.
> 
>  _Ești bătrân sentimental, credeam că vrei să mă dai, să nu te ții și să mă petreci._ \- Romanian - You sentimental old man, I thought you wanted to fuck me, not hold and pet me.
> 
> **Commission Stuff**
> 
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> 
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> +10 for every 5 pieces
> 
> For each piece of writing, I can also illustrate a part or chapter for an additional amount depending on the complexity of the piece. Please see my art prices.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, there we have it! Chapter one is DONE! ; u; Chapter two will be pure smut so like, prepare yourselves. Probably some angst, too, to be honest, but we’ll have fun.


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